45. Chapter Forty #2
“And it got me thinking about how many men around here are doing the exact same thing. Carrying everything quietly because that’s what men are taught to do.
Like asking for help means there’s something wrong with you.
” She pauses, looking back at me. “I couldn’t really help you back then, not in the way I probably should’ve, so I figured maybe I could put my energy into something that might help somebody else. ”
I don't say anything. Too busy trying to tame the tight pull in my chest, but it gets me thinking about all the times I’ve left Dr. Palmer’s office feeling lighter, and how now, at the age of twenty-six, I am at the beginning of finally understanding myself fully, having a name for something that’s been pulling at me all these years.
That would have never happened without Naomi’s push.
And it ain’t just me, like she said. I would bet my horse that every man in this town has something weighing them down in one way or another.
Bryan hides behind that loudmouth charm of his, as if keeping everybody laughing will prevent them to see the hurt left behind by parents who walked out on him.
Wade spent years letting me blame him for everything so I wouldn’t think less of the woman who left us.
He shut himself off from people so nobody would see how badly it had all cut him.
Hell, most men around here would rather break a bone than admit they’re struggling. They all mask it because they are told to “man up.” And that’s the problem.
Therapy has taught me that speaking about what’s going on inside your own head is not a weakness. That’s a message all these men should hear. I hope they have a Naomi in their lives to guide them in that direction.
“It's needed,” I say quietly. “More than people realise.”
Naomi nods, smiling like she knew I’d understand eventually. She glances down at her clipboard, her expression shifting into something mischievous. “Ready for the main event?”
I narrow my eyes. “What main event?”
“The auction.”
Ah, hell.
Naomi’s already climbing onto the bar with a mic in hand. She glances over her shoulder at me, a smirk playing at her lips. “Don’t worry Colt, I got you.”
The room quietens as she taps the mic.
“Good evening Wildbrook Hollow,” she says, and the crowd responds immediately, loud and ready.
“You’ve already been incredibly generous tonight, and it’s all for a damn good cause.
” She grins. “But I’m hoping y’all are willing to dig a little deeper into those pockets, because we’ve got some of this country's finest cowboys up for grabs tonight.”
The bar erupts with whistles and hollers.
“Our host for this segment of the evening is the new owner of The Lone Coyote, who has done an absolutely stunning job with this place’s new look. So please give her a proper Wildbrook Hollow welcome.”
Naomi passes the mic to a tall woman with long black hair pinned in soft vintage curls around her face. Her red lips part. “Thank you,” she says smoothly. “And while this might be fun, the reason we’re here matters. Struggling with your mental health doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
Naomi manages to be back at my side, clapping loud enough to make the rest of the bar follow suit.
“Let’s raise some fucking money!” She shouts down the microphone. “First up to the stage—”
Naomi shoves me forward hard enough that my boots move before my brain catches up.
“Wildbrook Hollow’s very own golden boy. Sun-kissed skin, blond hair, and apparently a heart of gold.”
Jesus Christ.
Before I can even think about escaping, there’s a spotlight—didn’t even know this place had one—burning straight down on me. I freeze. I ain’t used to being the centre of attention, not one damn bit.
The crowd gets louder. Whistles bounce around the room. Somebody near the back yells, “C’mon, cowboy!”
I shake the nerves out of my shoulders, then step onto the small stage where the black-haired woman is gesturing to. Front and centre of the dance floor, full of eyes staring in my direction.
My hands tremble as I wave, but when I look at all the faces staring back at me with smiles, something in me loosens. I stop caring about how these people view me. This is supposed to be fun and silly.
So, I stop taking it so seriously.
I don’t know what diva gets into me, but I strut in my cowboy boots, up and down the stage like it was a natural thing. And the crowd loves it. I love the feeling of being somewhere loud, feeling alive and being present in the moment. I feel happy.
I remove my cowboy hat from my head, swinging it in circles around my head as I head to one corner of the stage.
“Twenty dollars,” someone calls.
“Thirty,” from the other side of the room.
“Forty-five.”
The bids start flying. I grin as they climb past a hundred. The owner keeps working the crowd, trying to squeeze out a little more. Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch Naomi standing near the edge of the bar. Watching me with amusement plastered across her face.
She lifts two fingers casually. “One-fifty.”
Nothing comes after, just the noise from the rowdy bar filling the space.
“Sold! To the organiser herself.”
The previous bidder—a cute blonde who definitely ain’t from ’round here—lets out an exaggerated pout.
I look over at Naomi, who lifts her shoulder, giving me the most fake innocent smile a man has ever seen.
That’s what she meant by I got you.
I shake my head, laughing, while the owner announces the next man to come on stage. But I don’t hear who it is, because all I can focus on is how damn good I feel in this moment.
A high that I hope will run for the rest of the night.